


The Sharp Knife of a Short Life

by orphan_account



Category: Original Work
Genre: ...but this might take the cake lmao, Abuse of Authority, Extremely Underage, F/F, I've written fucked up shit before, Infantophilia, Necrophilia, Read what's on the tin before consuming, Underage Rape/Non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:07:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24357805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Dr. Kamilla Prim works as a pathologist and medical examiner. After performing an autopsy of a one month-old, she crosses a line she'd never imagined she would.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 100





	The Sharp Knife of a Short Life

**Author's Note:**

> This just might be the most fucked-up thing I've written to date, but I guess my pattern of writing increasingly horrifying fics continues! 
> 
> As usual, this is all FICTION and the author doesn't condone any perversions that take place within the story. That being said, ENJOY!
> 
> Title from The Band Perry's "If I Die Young," because what else would it be? ;p

Dr. Kamilla Prim works as a pathologist and medical examiner for a large rural area that lies more than two hours outside of Sacramento, California. The majority of her cases involve simple farming accidents, overdoses, or drunk driving related deaths, but a few times a year she is pulled into a homicide investigation that requires a more in-depth investigation. 

Unfortunately for Kamilla, there has been a dry spell of interesting cases for nearly 6 months and she's been going stir-crazy. She knows it's selfish, but every day she prays for a serial killer to cross her jurisdiction, just to give her something mentally stimulating to occupy her otherwise boring days. Today her only autopsy is for a one month-old female who died in her crib. She had no known health concerns and her parents reported that she was a thriving child, curious and happy. Kamilla performed a perfunctory autopsy to rule out underlying health conditions and to search for possible signs of abuse, but found nothing. She logs her findings and notes the cause of death as Sudden Infant Death Syndrome, or SIDS. It's an unsatisfying determination for all, and she doesn't relish telling the grieving parents that their child simply died in her sleep, likely due to variables outside of their control. 

Kamilla takes one final look at the child's face, forever frozen in a peaceful half-smile, before dictating her final observations to a recorder set on the table holding her surgical instruments. The autposy has taken longer than normal, due mostly to the fact that multiple times during the procedure Kamilla finds herself absentmindedly stroking her gloved fingers over the infant’s smooth, cool skin. Even as she dictates her findings she is constantly running a finger down the length of the abdominal incision, or rubbing her thumb over the child’s soft cheek. 

Once she's finished her dictation and has stopped the recording she moves to clean up her work station, thoroughly disinfecting her tools and disgarding of any leftover medical waste. She pauses next to the table where the small body is splayed, covered from the waist down by a light blue medical sheet. This is typically where Kamilla would return the body to the wall of refrigeration units, where it will stay until the local mortuary retrieves it for the burial, or until it is loaded into the on-site cremation chamber. Now that her autopsy found no cause for further investigation, Kamilla knows that this particular body is to be cremated the next day and the ashes returned to the family the day after that. 

Kamilla is pulled from her thoughts to find her hand once again stroking the child, this time focusing on the delicate fingers, forever clenched into an impossibly tiny fist. She doesn't stop her ministrations and instead focuses on how the skin feels under her gloved fingers. Curious, she removes and disposes of the purple nitrile gloves, returning to brush her fingers over the girl's skin unimpeded. The stark contrast between her own dark skin and the pale, bloodless skin of the deceased child is striking. 

The skin is unbelievable smooth under her soft caresses, and colder than it normally feels with a glove on. Kamilla runs her fingers up the chubby arm, and then down the torso, skirting around the edges of the freshly stitched-up incision in the center of the girl's chest. When her fingers reach the sheet they deftly flick it aside, the thin material floating down gently to the cold cement floor. Kamilla pays it no mind, too focused on the incredible smoothness beneath her fingertips. 

She brings her other hand to mirror her movements on the other side of the child's still body, all ten fingers now running down the length of the short legs. It's far from the first time she's felt the cool, smooth skin of the dead against her bare skin, but it feels brand new to Kamilla in that moment. She begins to unconstiously press her hips against the metal table, searching out friction she isn't even aware she's craving. It isn't until she lets out a soft moan that she realizes what she's doing, and that her pussy is soaking wet from her actions. 

Kamilla doesn't spare a single thought to what she's doing, or how uncharacteristic it is for her to be acting so perversely. She has never been more thankful to live in such a rural area, as it allows her to perform the majority of her autopsies alone, only requiring an assistant or second set of eyes in cases of suspected homicide. The only thought running throught her head is the need to feel that cold, smooth skin against her most sensitive place. Confident that no one would interrupt her, she efficiently pulls down her scrub bottoms and underwear in one motion, taking the time to fold the discarded items before setting them aside. She leaves her lab coat on to help ward off the chill of the room. 

Kamilla gracefully climbs on top of the table, shifting until her knees are straddling the dead girl's head. She slowly spreads her legs wider, lowering herself until her vagina is barely brushing against the cool skin below her. 

With one final breath to steady herself, Kamilla bridges the gap and settles herself firmly over the child’s face. She gasps at the first feeling of cold skin against her core, such a stark contrast to the nearly feverish skin between her legs. She rocks her hips tentatively at first, just barely grinding her pussy against the still form beneath her. The movement results in the small nose nudging against her clit, and Kamilla gives a startled noise at the small bolt of pleasure that arcs through her. Desperate for more of those feelings her hips set into a rhythmic back and forth movement, her wet cunt starting at the infant's chin and ending just at the eyebrow ridge. 

A sharp whine leaves her throat at the unbelievable pleasure that motion sends rocking through her, her entire body tensing as her orgasm rapidly builds deep in her belly. Planting one hand down on the metal table below her, the other cupping the girl's head and pulling it closer to her body Kamilla speeds up her movements, her hips rocking so fast that the metal table is creaking with each thrust. She spares a single grateful thought to her foresight to use the only autopsy table in the morgue not on wheels. 

Her new position provides her the leverage she needs, and with a loud shout of pleasure she rockets over the edge, her orgasm leaving her shaking for nearly a full minute until it finally subsides. She stays there panting for a long moment before releasing the child's head, letting it fall softly back to the surgical table with a dull metalic 'thunk.' 

Curious, Kamilla shifts her weight until she’s sitting back on her heels, the child’s glistening face now visible. Her cum covers the entire pale surface, and she almost expects to see a flush on the girl's serene face before remembering that the lack of bloodflow makes that impossible. That reminder reinvigorates her, and she reaches down and grips the tiny chin in one hand, using the other to pry open the mouth. She slips two fingers inside and rubs them against the cold tongue, shivering at the thought of that cold muscle against her sensitive clit. Determined to make that happen, she gently grips the tongue with a steady hand and pulls the tongue out as far as possible while it’s still attached, leaving it resting against the child’s slightly blue lips. It's nowhere near as elastic as it would have been when the child was still breathing, but it should suffice for now. 

Kamilla wastes no time in returning to her previous position, straddling the tiny head once again and lowering herself onto the now outstretched tongue. At the first touch she groans loudly, the tongue much colder than the outside of the tiny body below her. Distantly, she realizes that's because the body has been out of its refrigeration unit for too long, and is beginning to warm up. That thought kicks her into overdrive, her dark hands reaching to hold the small head steady as she rocks incessantly against the outstretched tongue. Her orgasm takes less time to arrive than her first, and within minutes she's crying out again as her body shakes and writhes on top of the cold form beneath her. 

Not having the luxury of enjoying the afterglow this time, Kamilla quickly manuvers herself off of the table and quickly rights her clothing, not even taking the time to wipe the wet mess between her thighs before doing so. She efficiently cleans the child's face, removing any evidence of what had transpired. After carefully washing and drying the infant, Kamilla gives her a single chaste kiss before returning her to the designated storage locker. 

The rest of her day passes quickly, much of which is spent daydreaming about her new lover and how she has one more day with her before she's returned to her family. She completely neglected the rest of the girl's body, and she admonishes herself for being such a selfish lover. She begins to plan their final day together, determined to get her fill before their time is cut off forever. There are two other bodies being cremated the next day, and Kamilla can easily ensure that the girl goes last to give them the most possible time together. 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As Kamilla is driving home an hour later, lamenting the short amount of time they have left, she wishes she could take the girl home and keep her forever. She's admonishing herself for wasting precious hours on paperwork earlier in the day when a devious idea comes to her. What if she could take the girl home with her? Thanks to the tiny size of her new lover, she could easily sneak her out in a large tote purse or even an insulated lunch box to keep her cold for the hour-long journey home. And she could keep the body cold in her refrigerator to stave off decomposition, allowing them several months of play together. But what about the lack of a body for cremation?

It takes the rest of her drive home to come up with a workable plan: she would steal a small handful of ashes from each of the adult cremations the next day. There would be just enough ashes to present to the girl's parents, and anyone who looked inside the urn would never be able to tell that it was inface the ashes of a 56 year-old farmer and a 19 year-old college student rather than a beautiful one month-old. 

Ecstatic that she wouldn't have to say goodbye so soon to her new lover, Kamilla makes a stop at the closest mall to buy some much-needed supplies to ensure her girl has everything she could possibly need once she's brought home.


End file.
